Aftermaths
by ShinyShiny9
Summary: Formerly "The Testator"; now expanded to include one-shots from other characters' points of view. Because in the wake of the Tournament and a near-repeat of the Serpentine Wars, everyone has plenty of pieces to pick up. (The first few one-shots are the darkest, the later ones get lighter.) Newest chapter: No regrets
1. The Testator

**Fair warning, this was dashed off way back in February, right after I first saw the Season 4 finale. I regret nothing.**

* * *

You could bend reality here, a little bit. There _was_ no reality. If you convinced yourself hard enough, you could believe anything was true, voice in the back of your head be damned.

Paper. Pen. Inkwell. Old-fashioned calligraphy tools, reminiscent of a long-gone time; they felt good in his hands, solid. Real. Teeth plastered over his lip, he touched the nib to the paper and began to write in slow, careful strokes. The introduction to a last will and testament.

He had only gotten to "of sound mind and body" when he faltered, still in doubt. What were the quirks of the legal system? If you said "of sound body" when you had none to speak of, would they reject the will as worthless?

It was a pointless question anyway, really. There was no way this will would ever reach anyone in the land of the living, no way it would ever be carried out. But if he let himself think that, he would lose the strength to complete it. And he _had_ to complete it. In case. In case there ever was, somehow, a chance to make this figment of his imagination real and toss it out into the world. As long as he believed that, he could keep a white-knuckled grip on hope . . . on sanity.

Ah, that solved his dilemma. "Of sound mind" was already debatable. No sense quibbling over the details of his body.

He resumed.

". . . do hereby declare my last will and testament."

He considered adding a date, then tossed the thought aside. That really would be fabrication.

_To my son, Lloyd Garmadon, I bequeath the contents of the monastery's armory, to be used or disposed of as he sees fit. Also the silver claw pendant and other contents of the oakwood box in my room, and any and all contents of the secret cubicle in the downstairs hallway._

He almost smiled, remembering Lloyd tapping and prodding at that strangely-echoing wall, brows knit in puzzlement. Never had found that hidden button. Never had pried out of his father whether there really was a secret panel there.

_The trigger to open the cubicle is in your room, Lloyd. In the carved cat's head._

_You know, the one you always hated?_ he almost added. He did smile this time, a brief flicker. Nudging the pen carefully into the inkwell, he continued on to heavier topics, his strokes growing slower, more reluctant.

_To my brother, Wu, I bequeath my books, papers, and our father's staff._ _Also the Helmet of Shadows, to be kept safe to the best of your abilities. _The pen wavered. _If you have forg_

—He snatched the pen back, gripping it with his other hand. A will. This was a will. Funny they should call it that, he had to exercise so very much of his own. Must keep this legal, professional. It had to be all by the books, or it might not be executed.

—_forgetten where it is stored_, he salvaged, teeth set in determination, _there is a map when light is shielded by the dark._

That black sheet of torn paper stored with his other documents. If held up to a candle, it would project the location of the Helmet of Shadows onto the wall. His brother should be able to figure that out, if necessary, especially since he would now be owner of Garmadon's papers.

_To my wife, Misako,_ he stopped to take a deep breath and steel himself as the pen scratched paper harder and harder. _I bequeath the monastery itself and whatever other of my possessions remain, to be used or disposed of as she sees fit. Lastly, due to extraordinary circumstances, I now _

His grip loosened. He felt the fingers of his other hand dig into his palm. It had to be done. For her sake, it had to be done. He had to fix what he had done such a good job of ruining.

A few times he breathed in and out, steadying his resolve. His will.

He gripped so tight that the pen creaked between his fingers and started to write again.

_officially _

—his breath stopped—

_annul _

—almost there—

_my m_

The tip of the pen snapped. Ink spewed all over the paper, splattering out in a dark explosion and then cascading down the page in eager black rivulets. For a second he stared as if unaware what had happened; then he let out his breath slowly and sank back. For a while he watched the streams of ink dripping from the edge of the paper, slower and slower. Heavily he raised his hand again and began to draw the useless broken tip of the pen through the blot on the page, tracing out letters in dribbling trails. His hand moved faster and faster, lighter, quicker, ever more easily, even as the words grew more and more illegible, more reckless.

They were not the words of a will.

At last he ran out of words, ran out of paper. He pulled back again, breathless, and regarded the scrawled, dripping mess before him. It never would pass for a legal document. It gave him a moment's release, but it would not do. This was his _will_. It had to live up to every possible sense of that word.

Only one thing to do. Crumple it up. Toss it away.

Just like the previous thirty-seven attempts.

He looked briefly out over the tumbles of discarded paper. Attempts six through twelve, seventeen, ripped through in anger. Attempts twenty-one, twenty-eight, thirty-two through thirty-four, rambling off into some unnerving gibberish. Attempts one through five, fourteen, thirty, thirty-five . . . runny. All the others bleeding ink like the thirty-eighth, scrawled over with futile words that fought their way to the surface every time. Words he'd give anything to say. But words that had no place in a will. That would not _submit_ to his will.

There was new paper now. A new pen. He did not question it; he dipped into the everlasting inkwell and started again. No, he never did have his brother's way with words, but that was all right. He would get it right. He had time.

Maybe eternity.


	2. Thanks for the Memories

**Sooooooo. I've decided to continue this thing, with a bunch of other one-shots about the trainwreck Season 4 left behind. On a whim, I tried writing one from Misako's point of view, kind of trying to get into her head for a bit.**

**. . . Let's just say I should not be permitted to do such things. It worked a little too well. **

**And yes, that was a warning; consider yourselves duly warned.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ninjago, nor the titular song by Fall Out Boy.**

* * *

_One night and one more time;_

_Thanks for the memories, e__ven though they weren't so great . . . _

_"He tastes like you, only sweeter!"_

* * *

_"Will you ever forgive me for the letter?"_

_"I already have."_

That was what she had told him. What else was there to say, in a moment like that? What else could you tell a man who was laying down his life before you? It wasn't as if any feeling human being could have said "no." And in the moment, in theory, she really had forgiven him. He certainly had made his efforts at atonement.

But now, as night fell and the last few cinders of Clouse's spellbook smoldered away, Misako excused herself from the others with a heavy heart. As she settled into the small spare room on the _Bounty_ that had been granted her, she finally had time to think about anything other than the prevention of Anacondrai rampages. The deeper implications of the letter slowly began to sink in.

That letter. The first love letter she had ever received. She had been a plain, bookish, uncoquettish young woman, and she had never dared hope anyone would ever call her beautiful. So to read such fervent, glowing words, directed at _her_—to be praised to the skies, told she was the most important thing in someone's universe—she still remembered the shuddering euphoria that had crashed through her when she first read that letter. She had been in tears well before the end of it.

More beautiful love letters had probably been written. Probably many times. Probably hundreds of flirtatious girls received letters just as beautiful every day, and merely brushed them off as no more than the attention they deserved.

But to a mousy-haired bookworm who never dreamed she would even be noticed—there was no way she could have thought rationally after that letter. She was head over heels from that day on, forever irrevocably his.

The wrong man's.

Her entire life, everything since she was twenty, had been built on a lie. Of course he truly loved her—with a passion, with a _violence_ he loved her—but those words that first won her heart were never meant to channel her love towards _him_. They had been exploited. And so had she.

After they married, she had patiently borne his increasingly dark, violent temper when the Great Devourer's venom started to take over in earnest. She had stayed up all night sobbing when he was cast into the Underworld. She had stayed true. Had essentially torn out her own heart when she gave up her son to the tender mercies of Darkley's. Had whiled away her life (all the very best years of her life!) in moldy libraries, alone, night after night, poring over heartless old manuscripts, trying to find a way to save him. Trying to save him and Lloyd both, because he loved her. And she loved him back.

As she slipped into her nightgown, there was a soft knock at her door, as distinctive as any voice. Definitely Wu. Misako hesitated. Presumably he was coming to offer her sympathy, but there was no possible way this conversation could go that would not hurt them both more.

And yet she pulled on a robe and called for him to enter. He stepped quietly in, leaning on his staff.

"You do not mind?" he said softly. Misako shook her head, gesturing for him to sit down. He did. After a moment of silence he removed his hat and placed it over his heart, bowing his head.

"My condolences, Misako," he said. "If there is any way I can assist you . . . "

She nodded her thanks, not trusting herself to speak. They both sat in silence, she staring at the table, he gazing morosely across the room. There was nothing to be said; they simply sat and mingled their misery.

Cautiously she stole a glance towards him, taking in his weathered features, his soft, distant eyes. He was so gentle. The only time she had ever seen him raise his voice was . . . just today. When he found out about the letter. She shuddered at the fury that had blazed across his features in that moment. For decades he must have been swallowing his regret, telling himself that they had simply not been meant to be; now with one uncovered truth a lifetime of misery had been rendered pointless. They _had_ been meant to be. And it spoke about the depths of his longing, too, that this had been the first thing in his life to wring fury from his heart.

He had never reconciled with Garmadon himself. He too had shed his anger for that final moment, unwilling to taint an already-painful sacrifice with bitterness, but he had not told his brother he forgave him. It was more than he could give in the moment. Looking into his eyes, she could tell it was more than he could give even now.

He should have been her husband. As he finally stood and clasped her hand in both of his, bowing his head in farewell, she fought hard against the thoughts that suddenly invaded her mind. What could have been? If—if only just—

Suddenly her hands were jerking free, finding their way to his shoulders; suddenly her lips were pressing against his. It only lasted for the briefest second, and in that second she felt him shudder and press eagerly (reflexively?) back—then they were both starting away from each other, eyes wide, breaths fast. Her hands were still on his shoulders; his were clasped just under her arms, half-possessive, half pushing her away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, shivering. "I'm so sorry, I—"

Wu placed a hand gently over her mouth, silencing her. For a moment he studied her face, tracing a stray lock of hair along the side of her head, finally tucking it behind her ear.

"It is all right," he said softly, his voice heavy with guilt. "We are both not thinking clearly just now."

"Y-yes," she stammered, hanging her head. Wu disentangled himself hesitantly from her arms, clasped her hands again, and left quietly. As soon as the door closed behind him, she sank down into a chair. No, they were not thinking clearly, no. When they were neither of them crazed with grief anymore, that would never happen again, never never. It shouldn't have happened now. Shame already crawled up from her insides with the acidic taste of bile, and yet she could not stop.

He should have been her _husband_. There would have been no bitter nights listening to venom-driven diatribes. No years of grief and loneliness, no wasted youth. No _Lloyd_—perhaps some other child. No Lloyd. No Green Ninja. No savior of Ninjago.

Ahhhh, so there was the plum pit. If she had not been tricked, Ninjago would have been doomed—her wasted life was merely an unfortunate side effect of saving the world. Did it make her a miserable selfish creature, she wondered, that she drew no comfort from that knowledge?

Swallowing, she tried to push her thoughts away. She had come here to sleep, after all. Turning towards the mirror, she undid her braid with shaking hands, attempted to brush it smooth for the night, but the strokes lacked any strength and only tangled. For a moment her eyes met her reflection's wearily; then she threw the brush across the room.

Slumping against the table, she put her head down in her folded arms and willed the tears to come. She'd cried many times before, after all, when the prophecies kept stacking against her and she'd end up sobbing with exhaustion next to a guttering candle and a heap of battered scrolls. It had always brought her a sense of calm afterwards, a resignation that enabled her to dry her eyes, pick up the next scroll, and keep reading.

But she must have run out of tears at some point back then, because now she could no longer cry. Her eyes felt numb behind her eyelids, everything inside her begged to just cry and the ache would go away, but somehow she just . . . didn't. It didn't turn on at will any more than it could be turned off.

There was a soft tap at the door. Again.

"Mom?"

She rubbed her forehead wearily. Poor Lloyd. She was hardly in any condition to offer him comfort, but she couldn't just turn him away. He was her son, she loved him, and he was hurting too.

"Mom?" The tapping came again. "Are you okay?"

"You can come in," she called softly, sitting back. The door hummed open just far enough for Lloyd to slip through; he regarded her with wide eyes and tousled hair, his frame seeming small tangled up in a comforter.

"I heard something falling over," he ventured. "I . . . are you okay?"

So he had come to comfort _her._ Where did the years go?

"I'm fine, Lloyd," she said, finding she was smiling gratefully, if somewhat brokenly. "Just . . . tired."

He knew very well that they were not operating under the standard definition of "tired" here.

"I'll stay," he said. "If you want me to."

She nodded, settling down on the edge of her bed. He ghosted across the room, shed the comforter, and settled down next to her. A moment's hesitant study, then he wrapped an arm around her.

"How are you holding up?" murmured Misako.

"Getting there," he replied with a heavy smile. "I'll be okay."

And they both actually believed it, too.

Surreptitiously she studied his face in turn. Blood of her blood, flesh of her flesh; she loved her son more than words could describe, and yet in a sick sense he should never have existed. If she had not been deceived; if she had married the right man; if he had never been born . . . In a way she hated herself all the more for dragging an innocent into the world and tossing a load like this on his shoulders. He'd been through plenty of grief himself, and that was partly her fault.

"How did you find out about the letter?" ventured Lloyd.

"Chen told us," she said bitterly. "Called us just to let us know."

"Was . . . was Uncle Wu angry?"

"Yes. Very." She drew away, looking questioningly into Lloyd's eyes. "Chen didn't give us many details. Do you know what happened?"

Lloyd grimaced.

"It . . . w-well . . . Dad told me, back on Chen's Island. When he was young, he used to be Chen's student, and Chen was trying to influence him to start war with the Serpentine. Chen intercepted the letter that Uncle Wu wrote to you, and Dad . . . well, Dad . . . the venom was affecting him pretty badly by then, and he . . . signed his own name to it."

She nodded ever so slightly, drawing up her knees. Chen's fault then, to a large degree; she might have known. And yet it still didn't take the sting away, still didn't fix this mess or excuse what her husband had done.

Chen or not; she had been little more than a pawn all her life. A prize of Garmadon's desires. A cog in the prophecy that she dutifully helped fulfill. A mere hapless tool of Fate, which had decreed that she would wed the aggressor to birth the savior, that she would forever be tangled in this thatch of complicated misery. Did she have any control over her own life, or was she just a means to the universe's ends? Were she and all those she loved just puppets playing out a history book?

Lloyd looked at her anxiously, seeing the resentment churning just behind her eyes.

"Are you angry, Mom?"

"Yes, Lloyd." She closed her eyes, trying to keep her voice steady. "Yes."

Lloyd shook his head helplessly and reached over to clasp her hand.

"He did it because he loved you," he whispered. "He loved you that much."

"And loving me meant that he had to have me at all costs?" gritted Misako. "That it was all right for him to manipulate me, without considering the futures he was ruining? Yours and mine, your uncle's?"

"It . . . the venom . . . " Lloyd faltered.

"Yes, always the venom. It always comes back to that. Lloyd. Does it change any of this, whether it was the venom or not?"

Lloyd bit his lip. He searched his mother's eyes for a moment, reading the grief and fury and dull resignation. Eventually he slid closer again and wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he whispered. "I'm sorry . . . "

She laid her head against his shoulder, drawing a long, shaky breath, and finally the tears came. Lloyd hugged her tight, rubbing her shoulder and murmuring in a helpless, soothing ramble. Bless his little never-should-have-existed heart, he'd never know the real reason she was crying.

No, there would be no forgiveness. Not today. Maybe someday. When she got back the years she had wasted; when all of their hearts forgot they'd been broken; when they were no longer trapped in the lives he had cheated them into. She would forgive him then.


	3. Early Start

**Mehhh. I'm not a big fan of "darkening" Ninjago by adding civilian casualties and all that nitty-gritty real-world stuff, but in this case it just seemed inevitable. Something they swept under the rug, as it were. **

**Say, by the way, anyone got any ideas for post-season-4 stuff they'd like to see? I've got about two more ideas, but other than that I'm kinda drawing blanks. Any changes you'd like to see explored? Characters you think deserve a study? Unresolved loose ends that need tying? I'd love to hear 'em!**

**Anyways, so. Disclaimer and all! I don't own Ninjago, but I do occasionally sully their good reputation. **

* * *

The eastern seaboard was a nightmare. The _Bounty_ traveled from village to village, town to town, and found only more burned, gutted buildings, more homeless families, more misery. It was enough to wring blood from a heart of stone.

"Two casualties," said Nya thinly, returning after a reconnaissance through Jamanukai. "One was an elderly man who suffered heart failure when the Anacondrai burst in on him. The other was a young man who threw himself at the warriors with a homemade spear. They—" She bit her lip hard, shaking her head. Jay started to say something, but Nya turned away and began working the controls of the nearest computer, typing something.

"We are fortunate the Anacondrai were moving so quickly," said Wu, looking out over the blackened remains of the buildings flanking the central street. "They were more interested in going rapidly from village to village, pillaging them as they went."

"Fortunate?" Nya's voice was like bending steel. "Fortunate? With what we've been seeing? Every village in the entire eastern half of Ninjago, burned and destroyed. People killed if they resisted, killed when burning buildings fell in on them, families homeless, families with no more livelihood because their farms and shops have burned to the ground." She was breathing hard by now, clutching the edge of the table and staring down at the keyboard. "And you call this fortunate."

"It is a tragedy, yes," said Wu softly. "But it could have been much worse. If Chen's Anacondrai had not been so eager to burn each village and move on to the next one, they would have stayed long enough to slaughter every inhabitant instead. As it is, we have lost much less than we might have."

"You're going to count it like that?" Nya's voice was steadily failing. The others watched with wide eyes. "You didn't see that kid! You didn't see what they—" She broke off, shaking her head violently.

Jay's hand was already rising to rest on her shoulder, but Kai stepped up and pushed him back silently, fixing him with a glare. Like a lighthouse beam his grim look swept to Cole as well, warning them both off.

_You both remind her of more trouble right now. If either one of you _dares_ to get near her when she's stretched this thin . . . _

They took the hint. Leaving Kai to comfort his sibling as best he could, the others slipped outside and off the _Bounty_. For a while they wandered through Jamanukai, taking in the charred mess with heavy hearts. The occasional villager hurried through the rubble, but nobody seemed to want to speak to them.

"Can we help out?" Cole asked a shopkeeper struggling to hoist aside the blackened ceiling beams of his shop. The earth ninja started slightly at the poisonous glare he got in return.

"Get lost," growled the shopkeeper, and turned back to his work. Cole blinked at him, confused.

"Guys?" said Jay under his breath. "Is it just me, or are we getting the evil eye here?"

The others looked around. It was true; whatever villagers they could see were either going about their business with their heads down, pointedly ignoring them, or were standing and openly glaring.

"Are they looking at _us?_" whispered Lloyd. Unconsciously they all edged a little closer together.

The shopkeeper stumbled under the weight of a beam, and Cole lunged to catch it before it drove him to the ground.

"Mind your own business!" barked the shopkeeper to a startled Cole. "Just as you minded it before. We don't want your pity now."

Cole stood rooted, the beam still teetering on his shoulder. Zane nodded subtly towards the _Bounty_; Cole set down the beam, and they all headed back. For a while they leaned against the ship's railing and said nothing. The villagers passing by underneath gave them icy looks occasionally.

"So," murmured Jay. "They hate us."

"I guess they have a right to," said Cole softly. "We left their village to burn."

Silence. Silence and downcast eyes. They had seen plenty of destruction before, of course; Ninjago City had been laid waste more than once. But all those other times, they had always been _there_. They had always been in the thick of the action, working furiously to stop the menace as fast as they could.

This time was different. They had allowed the entire eastern seaboard of Ninjago to fall. _Allowed_ it. There was nothing they could have done, really—their only hope had been to wait and hold the Corridor of Elders—but it was still painful to think about. They hadn't done anything to save these villagers' homes, livelihoods, _lives_. They had treated them as a mere tactical tool.

"So this is the art of war," said Zane heavily. Jay gave a bitter snort.

"Art? Art is supposed to be pretty."

"Hey. Maybe we can do something." Cole leaned his elbows on the railing, squinting over the village into the setting sun. "I know we've lost their trust, but—but maybe there's some way we can at least try to make up for this. At least for the ones who don't have anyplace to stay right now—the _Bounty_ can hold seventy-five people. We could probably make it a hundred, if we squeezed. We could give them a roof over their heads until the villages are rebuilt. And the . . . " he glanced hesitantly at Lloyd, wondering if he should bring up his father's monastery. Lloyd waved a hand, smiling slightly.

"Over two hundred."

* * *

Many people weren't interested. Some were outright angry at the offer. Others, though, willingly accepted the prospect of somewhere to stay, even if only for a little while and in crowded quarters.

"Some of us will have to sleep on the clothesline tonight," said Kai, wearily amused.

At one particular village, Jay stumbled across a little youngster, probably about four or five years old. The kid was perched behind a stack of lumber, crying his eyes out.

"Hey, tiger," said Jay gently, crouching down in front of him. "You okay?"

"I'm lost," said the boy, wiping his eyes hastily. He had a little wooden sword strapped around his waist, battered and chipped from countless mock battles.

"Do you live around here?" asked Jay, fishing in his pocket for a candy bar. He offered it to the kid, who backed away slightly.

"No thanks."

Jay looked puzzled—what kind of kid refused candy?—but then he remembered that parents went to enough trouble teaching their children not to accept sweets from strangers. Whoops.

"So, are your parents around here?" he asked again, hastily putting the candy bar away. The boy shook his head.

"Were you visiting this village?"

The boy shook his head again. Jay tilted his head.

"Well if you don't live here, but you're not visiting here, then . . . " He glanced around and caught sight of a nearby mountain, which the village was built at the foot of. Far up the mountainside, he caught the glint of a thatched cottage roof.

"Do you live up there?" he asked, pointing. The boy nodded eagerly.

"I think so! Can you come with me to find my mommy and daddy?"

Jay looked up the mountainside. It certainly wasn't the kind of climb you would trust a kid this age to make alone. Then he glanced over his shoulder at the others, who were scattered around the village asking who needed shelter for the night. For a moment he considered telling someone where he was headed, but the kid was already tugging insistently at his sleeve.

"Come on, hurry! You have to meet my parents."

Jay shook his head, chuckling, and allowed the boy to drag him off. He'd be back soon enough, the others wouldn't even get a chance to worry about him.

"So what's your name, Mister?" asked the little boy, trotting at Jay's side as they started up the mountain path.

"Jay. How 'bout you, tiger?"

"I'm Yama. After my dad." Yama puffed up his chest proudly. Jay eyed the little wooden sword.

"Is your dad a warrior?"

"He was," said Yama matter-of-factly. "He's not anymore."

"Huh." Jay looked up the mountainside again. Did the former warrior status have something to do with why he was living in an isolated cottage way up there? Now he was starting to get curious about meeting this family.

"D'ya like snakes?" asked Yama, skipping ahead. "There were lotsa them around here a while ago!"

"Yeah, I heard about 'em," said Jay, glancing away guiltily. "They weren't good snakes, though, huh?"

"Uh-uh!" Yama looked back, frowning. "They were mean. But I wasn't scared!"

"Good for you," said Jay weakly.

"I was a brave warrior, like my dad!" declared Yama, pointing his sword at the sky. "I charged those snakes and made 'em all run away! Wham! Whack!"

Jay had to smile. Thank goodness this little hooligan was still alive and well to imagine wild deeds of grandeur.

The path soon gave way to a rugged, nearly vertical ascent, but Yama was a nimble climber. Although it annoyed him to admit it, Jay had to admit he had a hard time keeping up with the energetic youngster.

"Easy there! Hold up," he called, pulling himself up onto a ledge. Yama paused, balanced atop a boulder, and watched patiently as Jay caught his breath. "Say. Are you sure your parents are even home?" panted the lightning ninja. "What if they got worried and went down the mountain to look for you?"

"No." Yama shook his head solemnly. "They'll be waiting."

"Waiting?" Jay blinked, puzzled. "But I thought . . . "

"Come on!" laughed Yama, hopping down from the boulder and scampering off across the shoulder of the mountain.

"Hey!" yelped Jay. "Come back! That's dangerous!"

He took off after the youngster, confident that he could catch up to him within a few strides. Suddenly he heard a shout from behind him—there was something so urgent about it that he reflexively glanced back, just for a second. When he turned back, he suddenly found himself teetering at the very brink of a gigantic chasm, yawning hungry and black beneath his feet. With a yelp he tried to throw himself back, arms windmilling furiously, but the rock was already crumbling beneath him—he already felt gravity taking over—

—And then suddenly Kai was snatching at the back of his shirt and his fall stopped.

A breathless silence. The _swishswishswish_ of Jay's feet treading air as he stared down into the canyon, wide-eyed. Then, after a very, _very_ long time, the distant clatter of the detached rocks finally hitting the bottom of the chasm. Finally Kai drew a deep breath, hauled Jay back onto solid ground, and regarded the lightning ninja exhaustedly.

"Don't do that," he said at last, deadpan.

"Aww, but I enjoy it so much!" Jay managed a shaky grin. Kai ran a hand down his face, sighing.

"What the heck were you _doing?_" he demanded.

"I was helping Yama get—" Jay bolted to his feet. "The kid! Oh my gosh! What happened to him?!"

"What kid?"

"Yama! He was running right in front of me right . . . " Jay trailed off, staring at the chasm. He could have sworn Yama had been running on solid rock, but . . . but how . . .

"He was right in front of me," he said at last, dazed. "A little kid."

Kai gave him an odd and somewhat unsettled look.

"Jay, I saw you. You were alone."

* * *

Jay, still a little shell-shocked, eventually made up some excuses as to why Kai had had to save him from loping right off the edge of an abyss. It was a good thing the fire ninja had seen him leaving the village and followed him up curiously; otherwise Jay would've probably been too startled and scared to summon his elemental dragon by the time he realized he was falling.

He didn't mention Yama again till they got back to the village. Then he asked Nya. As he'd started to suspect—Yama and his parents had tried to fight and had been among that town's casualties when the Anacondrai came through. "Meet his parents. They'll be waiting" took on a whole new meaning.

Speak of holding grudges.

Although it was unsettling, Jay didn't mention it to anyone. He was pretty sure most or all of his teammates didn't believe in ghosts, and he didn't figure anything was likely to change their minds about that anytime soon.


	4. I Am Titanium

**Shiny Zane. Now, I'm not one to cast doubts upon the joys of being shiny, but who else is kinda "T_T" about this whole "permanently shiny Zane" business?**

**Machete Girl, don't worry**—**the one-shot about Zane you requested is in the works. This is a different one I had pre-written. :3**

**Woah-ho! Thank you very much to the guests! I hope you're still there, 'cos I have some questions before I start.**

**Somebody: I would love to do one on Lloyd! But what about him? Was there anything specific you had in mind? Chat with Pythor? Thoughts on his dad? Hints of LloydXChamille? (wouldn't that be my lucky day!) **

**Guest: Ooooh. Oh boy. Do you mean closure like Nya finally choosing someone, or do you mean closure like the fight between Cole and Jay being officially over? I could definitely do the second one, but I'm not sure I want to get mixed up in making Nya choose. I could try if you really wanted, though!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Ninjago, there would be Lloydille. And it would be wonderful. **

* * *

_"C'mere, you shiny new tin can . . . Can you feel the love?!"_

_" . . . No."_

Looking back, Cole had to laugh at the naïve ease with which Zane had shot down the moment. What could he say, he got a little sentimental seeing his long-lost brother again, alive and well—and Zane, being typical frank but bewildered Zane, didn't quite get it. He'd forgotten a few things after his rebuild, some of the typical expressions of affection and such—but he still knew plenty well what family meant, and the rest returned quickly.

Pretty soon, though, it became clear there were other things he really couldn't feel. The _Bounty_ hit a bad patch of midair turbulence one day, and the entire ship was lurching and shuddering like a seasick sea monster while Nya dragged grimly at the wheel and the others struggled to stay on their feet. In the midst of the staggering about, Jay inadvertantly spilled a glass of soda down Zane's back.

"Sorry about that!" he called sheepishly, latching onto a doorframe before he could get flung across the room by the ship's next buck.

"About what?" asked Zane, puzzled. He looked at Jay as if he wasn't quite sure he was the one being addressed.

"You didn't feel that?" Jay blinked at him, equally puzzled now. As soon as the ship stopped pitching, he pulled the Nindroid over to the kitchen sink and had him hold his hand under the stream of water.

"Do you feel that?" he asked.

"Yes; I sense the water hitting my hand," said Zane, still bewildered.

"But do you feel _it?_ Do you feel the water? Actual _wetness?_"

"Wetness?" said Zane slowly.

"Yeah, like . . . just, a watery feeling." Jay gestured at Zane's dripping hand. "Doesn't that feel different?"

Zane looked down at his hand and shook his head.

"I feel nothing there. Should I?"

"Uh . . . well . . . " Jay stalled, suddenly unsure of how to put it without making Zane feel like something was wrong with him. "Uhm . . . You know, look, never mind. It's . . . not really a big deal."

Zane nodded slightly in acquiesence. After Jay left, he dipped his hand under the stream of tapwater again, brows knitting as he watched the liquid froth over his metallic skin.

* * *

Nya found him standing out in the rain a few weeks later, staring up into the sky with a thoughtful expression.

"Zane? What are you doing out here?" she asked, pulling her raincoat's hood tighter and stepping carefully across the _Bounty'_s wet deck. Zane lowered his gaze and nodded a greeting.

"I am trying to feel the rain," he said, as gravely as if he were listing dinner plans.

" . . . Feel it?"

"A while ago Jay asked me if I could feel moisture, the feeling of water. Once he brought it up, I remembered that I used to be able to do that. But now I cannot."

"You can't feel rain?" Nya's eyes widened slightly.

"I can feel every single raindrop." Zane tilted his head back again and held his arms out before him, palms up. Raindrops struck directly against his glowing blue eyes, but he didn't blink or even squint. "They are like hundreds of tiny soft pebbles. I can tell you exactly how many raindrops strike me at any second, but I only feel the impact. Not the wetness."

"But why?" murmured Nya.

"I do not know. I suppose when I rebuilt myself I must have created different skin that only registers pressure. Perhaps metallic skin cannot be made to feel moisture. Or perhaps I have only forgotten. If I think hard, I can remember the feeling. I can almost remember what it was like, I get so close . . . but I can never quite feel it."

Zane's voice was calm, but there was a faint edge of longing woven through it. Nya watched as he suddenly spread his arms wide, as if trying to make himself a larger target, absorb the water hurtling from the sky. The raindrops rattled against his titanium skin and pattered atop Nya's hood as they both stood for a moment.

He looked so eager, Nya thought sadly. Almost desperate. She tried to imagine what it must be like to remember a sensation but no longer experience it. Was it like going blind? Like losing a limb? She recalled the time she had worn rubber gloves while washing down one of her inventions. Putting her hands in the bucket of soapy water, feeling the liquid was there, but not feeling the moisture. Was that what Zane felt like all over, all the time? Nya shuddered. It must feel like your body was encased in plastic wrap that you couldn't remove.

Meanwhile Zane lowered his arms again and shook his head.

"Nothing?" asked Nya softly.

"I am afraid not." Zane gave a regretful smile.

"Will you . . . be all right?" she ventured, unsure about the crackle of disappointment she thought she had glimpsed in his eyes.

"Of course; I am still able to function quite well without the sensation of wetness." Zane waved a hand lightly. "I can tell when I am in standing water by the different resistance and bouyancy, and I can tell when I touch moving water by the impact. It will not be a liability."

Then why was he standing out here trying so hard to feel the rain? Nya's heart twisted. He was doing it for himself. It must be driving him crazy, struggling to lure out a human sensation that lingered tauntingly just underneath his gleaming metal shell. Claustrophobic in his own body. Like . . . like he'd lost a part of his humanity, but still remembered just enough to want it back.

"Keep trying," she blurted suddenly. "You'll remember, Zane. You probably just need to have a breakthrough."

"Thank you." Zane gave her a smile. "I will. But we should go inside; you will catch a cold if you are exposed to this weather too long."

Never thought she'd be grateful for that kind of weakness, thought Nya dully as she followed Zane indoors. Her hood blew off her head at the last moment, and a few stray droplets sank through her hair and splashed against her face. She focused on the damp feeling, wondering why it had never occurred to her to consider life without it.

* * *

A few days later, Nya stepped into the kitchen and found Zane already there. He was more animated than she had seen him in a long time.

"I have had it! I've had the breakthrough!" he cried the minute he saw her, beaming like he'd just had six birthdays simultaneously. Even his eyes were glowing a much brighter baby-blue than usual. "I can feel water again!"

"You can?! That's wonderful!" cried Nya as a delighted smile sprang to her own face. "How'd you do it?"

"I kept trying," said Zane eagerly. "I kept touching water and concentrating on what the feeling used to be like, and then it came back to me!" He plunged his hand into a pot full of water to demonstrate and pulled it in and out a few times, still reveling in the regained sensation. "It's just the way I remembered it!"

Nya watched him, silent. Zane turned to her again with earnest eyes.

"Thank you for encouraging me to keep trying," he said. For a second he looked a little bashful. "I . . . to be honest, I missed having all of the senses like this. I guess it shouldn't matter, but it felt like lacking them was somehow . . . less human. Like something was wrong. It's so good to have them back, and I owe you my gratitude for that."

Nya stared at him, lost for words. Why? Why, oh why did he have to spill this confession _now?_

At last she gave up and threw her arms around him.

"I'm so glad, Zane," she whispered. "Congratulations."

Then she bolted before he could see the tears welling in her eyes.

The pot of water he unabashedly plunged his hand into was boiling.


	5. Responsibilities

**And now for something completely different!**

**I loved writing this one. :3**

**Guest, somebody, if you're out there, could you check back to the A/N on the last chapter? This thing didn't move up the list when I last updated it (two updates in less than 24 hours will do that), but I could really use some more specifics on those requests. ^_^''**

* * *

"_Don't worry, no underground crime ring. Just noodles_."

It had all sounded so nice and easy in her head . . . Skylor had watched her father running his noodle company all her life, after all. She had been involved in quite a few of its dealings, although she had never had full knowledge of the depth of its corruption. Certainly not of the Factory.

But nothing had prepared her for the landslide of responsibility that came with not only inheriting the family business—but also trying to make it fully legal and above-board. She'd had some dim idea that the people who made noodles for Chen weren't there entirely by their own will, but the sheer misery that she found in the Factory horrified her. She grew ever more deeply disgusted with the man her father had been, and she vowed to make it up to everyone whom her father had hurt.

There were lawsuits. A lot of them. Furious threats from all kinds of groups, the _least_ of which were food safety organizations. The company had amassed quite a bit of money from its dirty practices, but it all disappeared by the time she had compensated all the workers. She sold off Chen's Island and everything on it without batting an eyelash, but that still barely covered everything. She would have to hire new workers, honestly this time, set up some kind of advertising campaign promising people that Master Chen's Noodle House was under new and honest management. They were losing customers at a dizzying rate already, and she didn't know if the company was going to make it.

Now she was working in the little office that had once been Chen's Ninjago base. It felt like working in a crypt or a gymnasium or something; the ceiling was easily twenty feet high, much too high for the narrow, bare room.

Rubbing her forehead and leaning back to swill cold, greasy coffee, she surveyed her cluttered desk mournfully. More lawsuits, more legal papers demanding licenses for things she didn't even know existed, more questions about whether they should raise prices to compensate for the fact that their labor was no longer free. So much paperwork. All of it unpleasant matters. But she deserved it, she told herself, for being so blind and letting her father get away with his cruel dealings for so long.

Wistfully she thought of Kai. She could picture him perfectly: his wild scruffy hair, his warm smile, the spark in his eyes. If it weren't for him, she might never have wound up on the straight and narrow. She'd probably still be an Anacondrai along with her dad, running around terrorizing Ninjago. She'd been close enough to that even as it was. And yet, after all her cool behavior towards Kai, after all the times she'd lied to him or outright screwed him over, he never held it against her. He'd loved her despite everything.

It almost scared her a little.

Glancing at the clock, she sighed. She'd been locked up in this office since morning, and right now it was nine in the evening. Surely she could take a little break? Just a bit of a chat . . . Just hearing another human voice would do wonders to lift her out of this funk, she was sure of it. Kai's in particular.

Smiling, she picked up the phone and dialed. It rang only once.

"Hi Skylor." The familiar voice slid down the scale in an affectionate singsong. She was dismayed at how dramatically the chills went through her; she was _not_ expecting to be this easily affected by his voice.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked, partly to cover up.

"Caller ID." There was definitely a smile in his voice. "What's up?"

"Well . . . nothing, I guess. Just wanted to talk." She clicked the tip of a pen awkwardly. "How are things?"

"Pretty good. You know, I was just thinking about calling _you_, actually. How would you feel about a date?"

"W—wow. You're pretty straightforward, huh?" she joked, although her smile was a little more than just teasing.

"Yep. And you can't say you don't like it," he replied airily. She rolled her eyes fondly; heaven only knew how he managed to make unbridled ego that charming.

"Even hypothetically, where would we go?" she asked, searching through the mess of documents before her. "It's a weeknight; there won't be much nightlife."

"Ohhh, I know a few places. Unless you'd rather pick?"

"Hmm." She laughed silently. "Roller rink?"

"Ha, yes. Thanks. I definitely haven't heard that suggestion several dozen times from Lloyd and Jay by now."

She chuckled.

"Well, I'll think about it; maybe I can come up with someplace else by the weekend."

"Awwh, come on. What's wrong with tonight?"

"Well . . . I'd like to, Kai, honestly, but . . . "

"Come onnnn, it's a perfect night! You can take some of that paperwork with you if you realllllly have to."

"I don't know, I—" Skylor stopped, her pen hovering just over the document she was about to sign. "How did you know I'm doing paperwork?"

" . . . Really _good_ caller ID."

"Okay, the fun's over," said Skylor, putting down the pen and standing up. "Where are you?" Still holding the phone to her ear, she looked around for—

—The little window high overhead popped open, and Kai slipped through. He landed lightly next to Skylor, still holding his own phone too, and grinned at her lopsidedly.

"Can you hear me now?"

She sighed, fighting back a returning smile as she ended the call.

"You realize that's trespassing on private property, hotshot."

"You gonna report me?" The grin grew a little cockier. Damn it was cute, but that didn't mean she wasn't determined to wipe it off his face.

"Maybe," she replied, raising her eyebrows. "I'd have a pretty hard time sleeping if I thought you made a habit out of peeking into people's private quarters."

For a second she could have sworn a tinge of red crept across his face, but if it did it was gone too fast for her to properly tell.

"Well, you can report me after we go out then," he said cheerfully. "Come on, the night is young!"

Skylor wavered. She did want to go, most definitely she did. But looking over her shoulder at the mess of papers still on the desk, she knew she couldn't. She couldn't just sail off to have fun when there was still so very much to put right and take care of, when there were still so many things to make up for.

"Sorry, hotshot," she said heavily. "I'd love to, honestly. But right now I've got so much going on; I can't just ditch all these responsibilities, you know?"

She could see he was hurt, but he tried to hide it.

"Hey, I get it," he shrugged. "Business stuff, huh?"

"Yeah." She smiled ruefully. "Dry as a bleached skeleton. I'm pretty sick of it."

Kai shifted from foot to foot, eyes flickering to the window.

"So . . . you're sure you don't want to just blow it off for a few hours?"

Ohhhhh, she wanted to so much—

"Sorry, Kai. I couldn't."

He nodded resignedly.

"Hey, in a few days, okay?" She hoped she hadn't lost him. "Just as soon as the worst of the legal work is over with."

"Sure thing. Take as long as you need to, just let me know when you're free," he said with a game smile.

"I'll do that."

She had lost him, hadn't she?

Kai shrugged awkwardly, then gave a little wave and turned to leave. She almost asked him to wait, almost blurted that she'd changed her mind. But instead she just waved back and watched him climb out the window.

For a moment she stood there in the middle of the room. Then she sighed, locked the window, stepped back to the desk, and resignedly picked up the pen. And here she had thought these papers couldn't _possibly_ look any less appealing.

She scratched away aimlessly, making arithmetical errors repeatedly and not really paying enough attention to make sure she'd fixed them. When she found the cost of flour racking up in the millions, she began to suspect she'd gone wrong somewhere back there.

"I'm no expert, but a calculator would probably help."

She started violently and looked up. Kai was perched in a chair, tilted onto the back two legs with his feet braced on the edge of the desk. He regarded her with a grin.

"Don't look so surprised." He tapped the notepad he was holding. "I've got a whole schedule worked up for us. It's not exactly date material, but I think it'll fit the bill for a business night. First I try to help you out with this stuff. Since I don't know much about it, I figure I'll ask a few dumb questions and drive you up the wall for a bit. Then in—" he checked the notepad ceremoniously "—about forty minutes, you'll lose patience and tell me to buzz off. Then we're gonna fight. Maybe fifteen minutes of that, then—" The rest of this highly professional business plan was lost as Skylor flipped him backwards, chair and all. She was laughing in spite of herself.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded.

"Aw, let a ninja keep his secrets," Kai smirked, picking himself up. Righting the chair, he pulled it up next to hers, grabbed a pencil, and settled his arms on the desk casually. She regarded him for a moment. Then she smiled, reached over to squeeze his hand, and got back to work.

Oh, she'd found a heart of gold here.


	6. Safe to Remove Hardware

**Pairings, pairings everywhere! I love it. ^_^**

**This one was requested by Machete Girl! Explanation of how Zane and PIXAL got to Chen's Island; I based it pretty heavily on the brief nod to the matter given in "Shadow of Ronin." Hope you enjoy! :)**

**Guest: Splendiferous! I can definitely do that. Thanks for letting me know; the one-shot is in the works! **

**LeNinjagoFanGirl: Thanks for the review! I had a lot of fun writing the Kailor chapter. We'll see about having more of it; I have a few ideas, but I'm not sure if they'll work yet. ^_^''**

* * *

It was different, having PIXAL inside his head. He was surprised how much he missed being able to touch her, hold her hand; he hadn't realized how much these things mattered to him. Of course he was infinitely glad she was still around at all, but it just wasn't the same when his primary means of seeing her was an animated panel in his HUD.

Luckily, he had discovered a way to at least talk to her in person. If he powered down his external optics, making his eyes go dim without closing them, he could imagine a little room inside his head. And if he wasn't disturbed by some kind of din in the real world, he could imagine himself in this little room, and PIXAL could join him there, if she wanted. Kind of a digital video chat, only more realistic.

He got quite good at it with time. At first he'd thought that he had to speak out loud to talk to her, and his teammates had been thoroughly unnerved by his one-sided blank-eyed conversations. But then he figured out that he could keep the conversation entirely inside his own head, and that gave him and PIXAL a lot more privacy to talk freely. He could even bring memories with him as gifts for her: if he remembered something vividly enough, he could bring the data with him and give it to her to interact with, just like in the real world.

Today he had brought her the memory of a kitten. She was quiet and scientific about it, as always, but Zane could see the happy glow in her eyes as she coaxed the little ball of fur to pounce and bat at her hands. He smiled sadly—if he missed being able to interact with PIXAL in the real world, he could only imagine how much PIXAL must be missing. She no longer had any real interactions at all.

"Do you miss being real?" he asked softly as the kitten finally clambered up into PIXAL's lap.

"Real?" PIXAL's glowing green eyes met his, questioning.

"Having a body of your own. Don't you miss being able to move around as you wish, touch things, live your own life?" asked Zane. "It must be very boring for you, being stuck in my system."

"I am happy," said PIXAL, although Zane felt a twinge of pain at the automatic nature of her reply. "You need not worry; my programming does not make me capable of feeling boredom." She smiled slightly. "And it is certainly a more exciting life than being trapped in one of Chen's computers."

Zane lapsed into thought for a moment. Come to think, he'd never gotten around to asking . . .

"PIXAL," he said at last. "Is it all right if I ask what happened? I don't remember anything about Chen's Island. How did I get there? How did _you_ get there?"

"You don't remember?" asked PIXAL, surprised. The kitten curled up on her lap, purring drowsily as she stroked its back.

"Only the Digiverse," said Zane. "I remember fighting the Overlord. I remember being slightly conscious in the computer system of Borg Industries and talking to you. I started rebuilding myself, but when I tried to transfer my mind to the new body, something went wrong. The next thing I remember is waking up in Chen's dungeon, with half of my memories missing. What happened?"

PIXAL looked down, still fondling the kitten's ears. Zane studied her face worriedly.

"You do not have to tell me, if it is unpleasant for you to remember . . . " he said gently. PIXAL shook her head.

"No, you should know. I will tell you."

* * *

The last day or two had been—what was the human term?—an emotional rollercoaster. First PIXAL had been so happy that Zane was back safely from space; then she had been plunged into the deepest grief she had ever felt in her life as she watched him die. She couldn't even bring herself to attend his funeral. Then she had been launched again into the most euphoric feeling of relief when his voice suddenly echoed through Borg Industries' speaker system, when the factory started churning to life under _his_ control.

It took hours for him to rebuild himself—he was a complicated machine, and he was rebuilding largely from memory, merging his old design with the upgrades PIXAL had added to the new line of Nindroids. PIXAL watched joyfully as the metal skeleton gradually sprouted a nest of wires and gears, soon to be covered by a sleek, metallic shell. Zane couldn't talk much from inside the Digiverse, but she knew she would get to speak to him once the rebuild and transfer were complete.

It was late at night when his body was finished. Borg Industries, which had already been empty and silent all day out of respect for the funeral, was now even more silent, the lights extinguished. Zane's voice echoed softly through the darkness as he explained that he would have to download himself into the new body now, and it would probably take several hours. He wouldn't be able to talk during that time.

As the download began, PIXAL watched the glinting metal simulacrum of Zane, sitting lifeless in a corner with its chin sunk to its chest and wires trailing from the back of its neck. It looked just like him. In a few hours it would _be_ him. She was not supposed to be able to feel impatience, but that was the only name she could apply to what she felt right now. Just a little longer. Just a little.

Driven by some inexplicable longing, she sat down next to him hesitantly and slipped her hand into his. The lifeless clamp flopped loosely, the metal cold to her sensors, but she didn't mind. For a while they sat in silence; PIXAL lapsed into her power-conserving sleep mode.

It was a few hours later that a darker shadow moved through the already-dark room. A hooded figure was slinking amongst the factory machinery, muttering to himself and shining a tiny flashlight every which way.

"Call themselves an industry leader," grumbled the figure softly. "Pah! Nothing in here that anyone would pay a dime for!"

PIXAL flickered into wakefulness. The sudden flash of her eyes and hum of her servos startled the intruder; he clicked off his flashlight and stood stock-still for a moment.

Then he approached. PIXAL sat frozen, unsure what to do.

"Well, well, well," chuckled the dark figure, towering over them both. "Now, _this_ will do much better . . . "

It couldn't be anything good. PIXAL sprang to her feet, causing the figure to curse in surprise and drop his flashlight. She could see just fine in the dark—and she desperately wanted to knock him over, drive him out, she really did—but she knew this figure was a living human. And while she was perfectly capable of mowing down cold steel Nindroids (especially with half of Zane's heart still beating in her chest), she had been programmed with very powerful subroutines preventing her from causing harm to a human being.

She couldn't raise a hand against him. She stood there trembling, trying to force her arms forward to strike him, yet she could not.

"Can't hurt me, eh?" grunted the figure. "These paranoid technology-fearing saps . . . " Muttering another curse, he began groping around on the floor for his flashlight. Helpless to fight, PIXAL settled at least for defense, stepping in front of Zane's still-lifeless shell and spreading her arms wide.

"Step back," she ordered sharply. "I am alerting security as we speak."

"Wunnerful, lady. You do that," retorted the intruder. "Tell 'em Ronin sent you."

Chuckling cockily, he tossed back his hood as if to show his scorn for security cameras. His face was indeed human, but a strange metal eyepatch angled across his forehead, covering (replacing?) one eye. He looked almost like a flesh-and-blood Nindroid—if Nindroids could sneer, that is.

"Get along, now," he scolded, nudging at PIXAL's shoulder. She struggled to resist, but she was unable to fight back as he pushed her unceremoniously aside. For a moment he studied Zane's unconscious metallic form. Then he pulled back one leg and gave it a harsh kick.

To PIXAL's horror, Zane's metallic body twitched, and his eyes flickered a dim blue. He wasn't supposed to wake up before the transfer was complete! She looked frantically back to the computer that was tracking the download's progress; it was nowhere near finished. If Zane's body was disconnected from the computer now, he might receive only part of his old consciousness. He might be missing his memory, or parts of his mind; he might not be able to function with what had been downloaded so far; he might even be destroyed completely, the seperated halves of his conscious corrupted beyond existence.

The intruder, however, knew none of this. He was observing Zane's slow, sleep-drugged movements with glee.

"Well, well, well," he murmured. "Works and everything. I'll get some good coin for you, Mr. Tin Man."

Zane's head lolled drowsily, his eyes shuttering open and closed; he was just barely conscious. PIXAL felt the hot blue half of his heart pounding within her—what could she do? What could she do?!

Again she tried to launch herself at Ronin. Again she failed to do any more than take an ineffectual step forward and just as quickly fall back. For just a moment, she felt something unfamiliar and hot and angry burning through her circuits. For just a moment, she found herself wishing that she was once again under the Overlord's control, when her protocols had not mattered in the slightest, when harming a human would be easy, even pleasurable.

She shook her head hard, blinking away the tears of frustration threatening to gather. Now was not the time for violent fantasies. She had to do what she could instead of regretting what she couldn't. Lunging to the computer, she began to type furiously, altering the download pattern. If she could just get it to move faster! She had no idea if this would even work, but maybe if she supercompressed all the remaining data files and downloaded them instantly, they could get into Zane before he was disconnected and be unzipped later. It was her only hope—

PIXAL hit "SEND." Ronin yanked the cables out of Zane's neck. There was only an instant separating the two events; PIXAL clutched the edge of the keyboard, feeling sick, as sparks gushed from the disconnected wires. Had the compressed file downloaded? It was no longer in the Borg Industries computer system, but did it make it into Zane's?

Zane had passed out again when the wires dislodged from his neck. Humming a rough tune under his breath, Ronin slung the dead weight up onto his shoulder and glanced around at the security cameras to calculate his path back out of the building. PIXAL pushed herself away from the computer. She might not be able to fight him, but she could try to stop him from leaving. If he got away and hurt Zane before he woke up again, all this would be for nothing.

"Ah, you're still here?" snorted Ronin. PIXAL pulled back her fists, feeling the hot sensation still building in her systems. This time she would strike him. This time she would do it.

She swung, but she would never know if she really could have done it. Ronin kicked idly at one of the still-sparking wires dangling from the wall—one grazed her arm, channeling several hundred volts—a wash of light and color and pain shot through her senses—then everything was dark.

* * *

"It's him. It's truly the legendary Zane, back from the dead!" cackled Chen, thumping his staff against the ground exultantly. He was still getting used to the weight of the thing; he'd just recently carved it. "And here I thought those photographs had been forged. Oh, this is perfect, Clouse, perfect! Is it not perfect?"

Chen's right-hand man gave a solemn nod.

"The first element, already in the palm of my hand!" gloated Chen, pacing back and forth with great flourishes of his cape. "And he will be the perfect bait to lure his friends here, too. It must be a sign, Clouse! The long years of planning and waiting are over! The cards are gathering in my hands. The time to hold the Tournament . . . has finally come!" Shaking his staff at the sky, he cackled wildly.

"Ahh . . . yeah, I'm glad you like this lot," said Ronin wearily. "Now, how much are y'gonna give me for it?"

PIXAL listened to the conversation with one ear, shivering as an ocean breeze whipped across her face. She lay on the deck of Chen's ferry, her hands cuffed tightly behind her back, Zane still unconscious beside her. After Ronin had kept them locked in his secret den for only a day, an astronomical offer from Chen arrived. Now they were being bartered for like dry goods—or rather, Zane was. She was not officially part of the "package," although Ronin had brought her along anyway.

"Well, well then, is he functional?" asked Chen, poking at Zane with his staff. "Wake him up, Mr. Eyepatch Man!"

"It's Ronin," said Ronin, with the air of one who had said this many times before. "And—ahh—well, y'see, he's kind of . . . in lockdown."

"You mean he will not wake up?!" Chen drew himself upright indignantly. "Bahh! He's useless to me like that! Ah well, deal's off; come, Clouse!"

"W—wait! Hey!" Ronin held up a hand, bewildered at the madman's rapid decision-making. "Hold on a second. He was working fine when I got hold of him, I swear—he probably just needs a few minor adjustments b'fore he wakes up, I just don't know how to do them right. But you see that other one, the dame beside him? I'll wager they have the same build. Pay me a little extra, and I'll let you have 'em both—then you can take one of 'em apart to find how the other works. Great for spare parts, too!"

Chen considered, stroking his chin. Clouse leaned over and whispered something to him, nodding.

"Splllllllendid, then!" roared Chen, suddenly ecstatic all over again. "I'll take them both!"

* * *

"Were you awake?" whispered Zane. PIXAL looked up from the dozing kitten in her lap.

"Awake?"

"When . . . when they took you apart."

"No, of course not. I did not feel a thing."

It was a lie, but she judged it would be easier for him to take. He looked broken enough as it was.

"You must not be distressed," she said earnestly. "I am satisfied with the way things turned out."

Zane shook his head silently. He reached over to take her hand, and they sat quietly like that for the rest of the visit. Right now was not the time for words; there would be time for those tomorrow.


	7. Same Girl

**Voila! Guest, the one-shot has arrived. Hope you enjoy! ^_^ I know I had fun; it was a good excuse for me to use all the "footage" I had to weed so carefully out of one of my other stories. :P**

**Speaking of, Machete Girl and Vamp75 have both done their own versions of a Jay-and-Cole resolution, so totally go and check those out too if anyone's interested! **

**Oh, and anyone know thethreevirtues on YouTube? They do Ninjago reviews, and some bits and pieces of this one-shot were inspired by something one of them said. **

**LeNinjagoFanGirl: Haha, okay then! I think I can work with that. Your request has been added to the lineup. :)**

* * *

It wasn't that Cole was actually a _bad_ cook. He knew how to do it properly without burning the food or anything; he just liked being creative and didn't skimp on the spices. He liked most of his dishes _way_ more heavily seasoned than the average person would find tolerable, and he loved to try new recipes or make up his own. The stranger the combination of flavors, the more eager he was to see if it would work.

. . . Okay, so maybe he kind of _was_ a bad cook, in that respect. The peanut-butter-chive sauce went down in history, and not in a good way. But he'd never actually made anyone sick . . .

Well, except that one time. After a long stretch of trying ever-wilder experimental recipes every time it was his turn to cook, Cole had finally ceded to the others' pleas and made plain old hamburgers for dinner. That particular time, unfortunately, something had been wrong with the ground beef. Most of them spent the night spectacularly sick. They'd have been just as sick if anyone else had cooked it, but coming as it did after a chain of other fiascos, it sealed Cole's status as the most horrible cook ever. He was okay with that; he'd even kinda come to enjoy his reputation.

It was on one particular day then, when it was Cole's turn to cook, that Kai hunted down Jay with a look of panic.

"What gives, Kai?" asked Jay the minute he saw the fire ninja's fight-or-flight demeanor.

"He's making hamburgers." Kai shook him by the shoulders. "Hamburgers, Jay! You've gotta stop him!"

"Me, why me?!" demanded Jay. He and Cole had technically called a truce after the Tournament of Elements, but they still weren't officially on the best of terms. Conversation was awkward and avoided whenever possible.

"_I _can't, I've already gotten into an argument with him about it and he'll know I'm trying to sabotage him. Zane's too nice, Lloyd couldn't fool a day-old puppy, and . . . " Kai hesitated, calculating if he wanted to go there. Then he went there. "Welllllll, I guess I could send _Nya_ . . . "

"You _blackmailer_." Jay gave him a betrayed look. "You are _lower than low._"

"I do what it takes," grumbled Kai, steering Jay towards the kitchen. "Now get moving! Stall him, distract him, blow up the kitchen if you have to. Just stop those hamburgers from happening!"

"Weirdo," Jay shot over his shoulder, then sighed and stomped into the kitchen. Cole looked up from stirring a large bowl of some potion or other.

"Kai sent you, didn't he?" he said blandly. Jay threw up his hands and perched grumpily on a stool.

"I thought you were making hamburgers."

"I am. There's a special sauce that has to go in them," said Cole. Jay tried not to grimace.

For a while nothing was said. Jay swung his feet idly, elbows on the counter and chin sunk into his hands, calculating. Admittedly he had a vested interest in preventing hamburgers himself, but it was going to be harder now that Cole knew what he was up to.

"Well, if you're going to hang around anyway, at least help out," said Cole, shoving a chopping board stacked with carrots in Jay's direction.

"Carrots in hamburgers?"

"Don't question fate! Carrots is what came out of the fridge."

Jay looked at him oddly, wondering if he literally just closed his eyes and grabbed random ingredients when cooking. He wouldn't be surprised. The minute Cole's back was turned, Jay snatched up the bowl of "special sauce"—he shuddered at the strange orange slime speckled with green sprigs of something-or-other—and shoved the whole thing into the cereal cupboard. It was a little too big to fit, but when he closed the door it tilted the bowl enough to stay shut. Phew. Mission accomplished; now to find an inconspicuous way to saunter out of here before Cole realized the sauce was missing. For now he just kept chopping the carrots.

"So . . . why're you so quiet?" asked Cole at last, eyeing Jay with a touch of suspicion.

"Dunno," said Jay wearily.

"You're plotting something, aren't you?"

"No." Which was true. Not anymore, he wasn't.

"Geez. You're not _still_ mad at me?"

"Just . . . " Jay sighed and started scraping chopped carrots into a pot of boiling water. "Just drop it, okay? Don't make me say something I'll regret."

"Look, I think I've done my part already," said Cole bitterly.

"Cole. Drop it," gritted Jay.

"No, seriously. I made the first move, I bowed out, I let you win that match at the Tournament. What more do you want?"

Jay eyed him warningly.

"Okay, well fine." Cole glared back. "I tried. If you're gonna—"

Abruptly Jay gave a resigned growl, slammed down the wooden spoon he'd been stirring the carrots with, and turned on his heel.

"_You_—" He pointed the spoon so vehemently that Cole leaned back slightly "—are actually pretty okay. For a dirtclod. And yeah, I know, you were the bigger person, so sue me if I don't know how to deal with that. But for the record, thanks. And it was my fault. The whole thing. And I'm sorry."

Turning back just as abruptly, he stirred the carrots with a vengeance and shook his head.

"I regret that already."

Cole stood silent for a moment, bewildered but smiling.

"Hey," he ventured at last. "Just for the record . . . well, I'm sorry too."

"Can we not talk about it anymore?" asked Jay, still stirring the carrots with a determination bordering fanaticism.

"What, _you_ not wanting to talk? Really?"

"I can do without any reminders of all the stupid things I said," said Jay through his teeth, eyeing the ceiling. Cole thought back, then stifled a chuckle.

"Fair enough."

"t's not funny," said Jay reproachfully, but he was edging close to a rueful smile of his own.

Silence for a bit. Jay kept chopping carrots, while Cole rummaged through the cupboards looking for a larger frying pan. They were both grateful for something to keep busy with.

"So," said Jay slowly at last. "Just asking . . . "

"I thought you didn't wanna talk."

"Too late," said Jay drily.

Cole considered, then shrugged, sighing.

"Well, shoot then. I'll try not to kill ya."

"Great. So then . . . why did you go after Nya, anyway?"

"Welp, I'm gonna have to kill ya," announced Cole, pulling a frying pan out of the ovenware cupboard. Jay eyed it dubiously.

"Not with _this_," said Cole, rolling his eyes. "This is for the burgers."

Jay chuckled.

"But seriously," he said, sobering. "Come on."

"Ugh, Jay." Cole shook his head, slamming the pan down on the stovetop a little harder than was necessary. "Don't ask, because I don't know. It's hard to say, you know? I . . . I guess a lot of it was just because you started freaking out about it." He ducked his head sheepishly, taking his time searching for the cooking oil. "Not the smartest thing to do . . . I guess . . . but out of nowhere you start chewing me out for stealing her. First thing that occurred to me was to prove you right."

"So then, I _wasn't_ right?" Jay lost every game of poker he'd ever played, and right now the poorly-concealed spark of hope in his eyes was a stark reminder of why. Cole winced.

"Well, I don't know . . . we'd kinda been . . . talking a little, and stuff . . ."

The spark of hope fizzled out abruptly, but to his credit Jay kept his temper.

"Oh. Well." He gave a sharp, frustrated sigh and dumped the next batch of chopped carrots into the water. "So, you really do like her, huh?"

"I'm telling you, I don't _know_ anymore," said Cole wearily. "It's too much of a mess by now. But . . . well . . . when she started acting interested, honestly I didn't mind. She's pretty. And she's really got a head on her shoulders, you know? She knows a lot, and she's not scared to use what she knows either. She's . . . well . . ." He shrugged, unsure about how highly he could get away with praising her.

"Amazing?" said Jay heavily. "Yeah. Can't argue with you there."

Cole sighed again.

"Look, like I said, Jay. I'm staying back. I'm not going to stand between you and her, okay?"

"And if she _chooses _you?" said Jay. He stabbed aimlessly at the last carrot, looking miserable. Cole tilted oil around on the frying pan, thinking.

"You know," he said slowly. "I don't even know if I'm down with this. Yeah, Nya's pretty great. But if she can't choose, or won't, or doesn't want to, well . . . is it really _worth_ it? She's—well, don't you think she's been stringing us along long enough?"

Jay gave him a look.

"Well, she has!" protested Cole. Jay drew in his breath, then shrugged and resumed chopping the now-mutilated carrot.

"Yeah. You're right. If she wants to play games, I guess I should have more self-respect than to hang around waiting for her to make up her mind. I oughta go out and look for a new girlfriend or somethin'."

A beat.

"Not gonna happen?" said Cole knowingly.

"Not in this universe."

"Yeah, kinda thought so." With a rueful smile, Cole leaned aside to smack the back of Jay's head lightly. "Well, good luck, Zaptrap. You're gonna need it."

Jay elbowed him, smirking.

"Good luck yourself."

"Who needs luck, I've got my good looks," retorted Cole, fetching a package of ground beef. Now he finally noticed that the hamburger sauce was missing. He gave Jay a disgruntled glance over his shoulder (which Jay either missed or ignored), and began stalking around the kitchen searching in all the cupboards. Soon enough he got to the cereal cabinet; as soon as the support from the cupboard door gave way, the bowl of sauce tumbled out. Cole yelped and jumped back as it clattered across the counter, splashing orange sauce every which way. Jay stifled a chuckle.

"Sorry," he said when Cole gave him an unamused look. "Wasn't _my_ idea . . . "

Cole rolled his eyes and sighed, surveying the sticky mess spread over the counter and floor—and him.

"Well. I used the last of the eggs for that sauce. No eggs, no sauce; no sauce, no hamburgers."

"Yeah," said Jay, less than repentant.

"Don't sound so smug." Cole scooped up the half-empty bowl and plopped it upside-down on Jay's head.

"Hey!"

"Not a word. You deserved that."

Snorting, Jay pushed the bowl back from his eyes.

"So . . . now what?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Cole pulled out a rag to start cleaning up the spilled sauce. "Tacos tonight, to use the ground beef. And we kill Kai."

"Ohhhh . . . " Jay considered, and the more he thought about it the better sense it made. "You're right! We kill Kai."

"Horrifically," intoned Cole. "Mercilessly."

"Long shall he suffer!" growled Jay, brandishing an eggbeater.

"And no dessert, either!"

"Woah, woah, now you're getting bloodthirsty. I didn't sign up for this."

They both laughed. It was nice to be friends again—although Kai, whatever his unwitting role in it may have been, was probably going to pay for it dearly.


	8. Passing the Torch

**Whoop! Happy first-day-of-Season-5-in-the-United-States to you all!**

**. . . What am I doing still posting a Season 4 fic? XD**

**Ahh, well. Proceeding anyway! Lloyd fans beware; I love the little guy, but I'm about to put him through the wringer. **

**Some _The LEGO Movie _references thrown in there too. And a figurative bowl of maple-syrup oatmeal. **

* * *

Cole was starting to consider asking someone if what he'd just said had come out in English. The way Lloyd was looking at him, you'd think he had started reciting the Anacondrai transformation spell in its original tongue.

"In charge?" Lloyd stammered at last. "Me?"

"Why not? You are the Green Ninja. Kinda makes sense."

"But—but—I'm the youngest!" It said something about Lloyd's desperation if he was pulling out _that_ card; usually he tried his best to make everyone forget that particular fact.

"So? You did a great job pulling us together and keeping us on-track while we were at Chen's Island. Heck, you're pretty much the leader already, except for on paper. Might as well make it official, you know?"

"But . . . "

"Look, I know _I_ can't do this anymore," said Cole frankly. "It was okay back in the early days, but these days things have gotten way too complicated for me to keep under control. It's out of my league. But you—you were made for this kinda stuff."

The others were also amiably disposed to the idea, and despite Lloyd's objections they all but made up his mind for him. All that remained was to ask Sensei Wu, since technically the team's leadership was his choice to make. It was a little late at night to do that now—Wu had already been asleep when they started the conversation—so they agreed they would ask him first thing in the morning.

"Quit stewing, Lloyd," yawned Jay, clambering into his bunk. "Sensei knows what he's doing. If he doesn't think you can handle it, he won't give his blessing. And if he does, that means you can."

"Walker logic. Don't question it," joked Kai.

Lloyd grimaced. As the others fell asleep one by one, he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling through the darkness, chewing his tongue. This news came out of nowhere, and he wasn't sure he was ready for the responsibility of leading, or for the subtle changes that would undoubtedly occur in his relationship with the others. He knew that nobody would force him to accept the position if he refused it, but he was torn about whether he _should_ refuse. If Cole didn't want to be leader anymore—if everyone else believed Lloyd could do it—if even Sensei Wu believed he could do it—_should_ he do it?

Something held him back. A little voice in the back of his head seemed to be piping something that he somehow wanted to ignore. Something like a gut feeling seemed to be telling him to stay away from this job. But he couldn't quite place his finger on it, and as time went by he only grew more and more confused.

It was hours before he fell asleep. When he finally did, the little piping voice in the back of his head took full advantage. Now it wouldn't shut up.

_Confused, aren't you?_ it enquired solicitously. _Not sure if you're cut out to be leader?_

"Kinda," said Lloyd, looking around. Somehow the misty landscape and eerie disembodied voice didn't faze him. Dream logic; he was inclined to believe it was his conscience speaking. Heck, maybe it would help him sort this out.

_Want some advice?_ the voice indeed offered. Nice helpful dream consciences!

"Definitely." Lloyd looked around one final time, then resigned himself to chatting with a nonentity. "So . . . everyone seems to think I can do this, but somehow . . . I don't know. I'm not sure if I could do a good job."

_Based on your track record, nope_.

Lloyd blinked.

"Uhh . . . track record?"

_You've got the Green Ninja title, kiddo, and that's pretty much it. Otherwise, face it, you've been doing more harm than good since day one; you somehow keep up the illusion that you're doing good with the heroes when basically you just screw everything up. Forget leader, you're a burden. A scourge, even._

"He—hey," stammered Lloyd. "I know I didn't really make the best choices back when I was a kid, but I—"

_Choices, nothing! _scoffed the voice. _You do the greatest damage when you're trying to do good. Want a rundown?_

"No," said Lloyd, but the voice's question had apparently been strictly rhetorical. It rattled right merrily on.

_Okay, so let's get down to the nuts and bolts of it. What exactly have you been doing with your life?_

_First of all, you were the little kid at Darkley's. No good came out of that, obviously._

_Then you got kicked out of Darkley's and started stealing for a living, terrorizing villages._

"I had to eat!" protested Lloyd.

_Sure, but were you doing anyone any good?_

Lloyd clamped his mouth shut.

_Thought not. Then you released the Serpentine. Boy, now that was a service to the people. And Pythor! He made the Serpentine truly dangerous. He released the Great Devourer that trashed Ninjago City. He helped the Digital Overlord return. And none of that would have happened if _you_ hadn't released him_.

Lloyd still said nothing, eyes downcast.

_And speaking of the Overlord! There was that great and glorious prophecy, stating that your purpose was to rid Ninjago of evil once and for all. All that time and training the others spent on you, all that drama with your dad, all preparing you, setting you up just so you could destroy all darkness forever. You had ONE job, kid. And then what? You didn't even come close to finishing off the Overlord_—_he came right back, and your Golden power only strengthened him. At the very best, you were utterly useless; at the worst, you were practically _helping _him._

_In the end it was Zane who did what the prophecy said _you_ were supposed to. And it cost him his life. Remember how destroyed everyone was to lose him? Remember how the team fell apart? That was your fault, kid. For screwing up the one thing you were born to do._

_And sure, sure, Zane's back now, but look how much he's changed. Look how much everyone went through. PIXAL is stuck in his head now, he's lost his memories, lost some of his humanity. Did everyone really need all that grief?_

_Not to mention Chen's Island. A lot of good you were there; you couldn't even win a stupid rollerskating race without the help of pretty much everyone in it. And then you went up to face Chen_—_the great Green Ninja, Master of Power!_—_and you got utterly creamed. Do you know what would have happened if you'd defeated him instead? If for once you'd actually done your job?_

_Chen and his followers would never have turned into snakes._

_The battle at the Corridor of Elders would never have taken place._

_And your father? . . ._

_Your father would still be alive._

_If not for you._

* * *

Lloyd woke up thrashing. Eventually he reached full consciousness and realized that there was nothing to hit. For a moment he blinked at the ceiling through the darkness, his breath shallow; then he rolled over and buried his face into his pillow. He hadn't cried when Garmadon was sent to the Cursed Realm—not during, not after, not at any point in time henceforth—after all he was the man of the family now, so it was his responsibility to be strong and look after his mother, to crush his tears into non-existence. Apparently he'd been stockpiling them instead. Fantastic.

It felt good, though.

Quite a while later, when his breathing was finally evening out again and he was still sunk in a bittersweet wash of relief, exhaustion, and shame, a creak of floorboards suddenly sounded next to his bed.

"'ey, kiddo?"

Oh, heck no.

Lloyd turned his head just enough to cast one eye guardedly over the intruder—Cole.

"How long have you been up? . . . "

"Uh—just now."

". . . You're a terrible liar."

"And you're starting to sound like Kai."

Lloyd groaned, pushing himself upright and rubbing at his now-throbbing temples.

"Granddad forbid."

Cole studied him worriedly for a moment, then finally sat down next to him on the edge of the bed.

"About your dad?" he asked gently. Lloyd shrugged, swallowing.

"I'm really sorry," ventured Cole. He fiddled with one pajama sleeve, lost for further words.

"S'okay." Lloyd bit his lip, watching his feet swinging over the edge of the bed. "Look, Cole, the whole . . . thing with me being in charge—I can't do it. It's not gonna work."

Cole, puzzled at the change of subject, gave him an odd look.

"What makes you say that?"

Lloyd shook his head in dismay. Some kind of reason was going to be required, but what could he say? "I destroy everything I touch and have screwed you all over repeatedly"? Even in his head it sounded self-pitying.

He snuck another glance at Cole, praying he'd solve the situation by giving up and going back to bed. No such luck; the earth ninja was sitting patiently, waiting for an answer. He'd probably wait till dawn if he had to. Dangit, even after all of Lloyd's failures and inadequacies, he still cared enough to—to—Lloyd barely even had time to register that he'd started talking before the whole story came tumbling out. How so many things were his fault and so many things he tried went horrifically wrong and he didn't trust himself with anything as important as leadership anymore.

"Wow," said Cole slowly.

"Sorry," whispered Lloyd, not sure if it was because of the story itself or because he'd just rattled it all off like that. "But, well, yeah. I mean, considering my track record . . . " He forced a dry laugh. "Y'know."

"Oboyyyy." Cole scruffed a hand through his hair drowsily, looking lost. At last he settled back and draped an arm over Lloyd's shoulders, drawing him close against his side. Lloyd fidgeted awkwardly, but truth be told he appreciated it; Cole's warm, solid hold reminded him a little of his dad.

For a while it was silent. Lloyd allowed himself to relax, while Cole gazed distantly across the room, sunk in thought.

"It wasn't your fault about your dad," he said at last. "Any one of us could have defeated Chen earlier. We _all_ failed there; don't take all the blame on yourself."

"But I still should've done better than I did," said Lloyd. "And not just that time. _All_ the times."

Cole was silent again.

"You remember that Emmet guy?" he said, out of nowhere. "The Special?"

"Y—yeah. Heh. Forgot about _that_ one; add it to the list."

"Eh, even the likes of Superman got captured that time," said Cole dismissively. "But that Emmet guy—he wasn't all that great at the hero stuff either, was he? He screwed up a lot of things too. But he came through in the end, right? He got it together and became a really good leader. But that wouldn't have happened if he took the first bunch of failures as a sign that he'd never succeed."

"But he didn't fail at the one thing he was _prophecied_ to do! And . . . and I did. If even a prophecy can't get me to do it right, well . . . what's left? What am I even . . . good for?"

"Well . . . for trying," said Cole. "Making the effort in the first place counts for a lot."

"Great," said Lloyd flatly. "Participation prize."

Cole gave a put-out sigh.

"Look, I'm not good with this words stuff, okay? Just . . ."

"'s'fine, 's'fine," said Lloyd hastily, sliding to his feet. "I'm okay now, really. I'll get a drink or something, go back to bed. Sorry if I woke you."

"Ugh. Hold up." Cole caught the back of his pajama collar and pulled him back lightly, turning him around. "What the heck; I'll say it. Listen, Lloyd, you're—you're part of this team. You're our little brother. And even if you _are_ a screwup—even if every single thing you ever do for the rest of time goes wrong—we'll still love you. No matter what. Is that enough to have left?"

Lloyd stood for a moment, chagrined at the fresh wave of tears that chose the absolute worst moment to threaten a return. Cole gave a weary laugh, pulling him in for a hug, and Lloyd gave in and buried his face willingly into his older brother's shoulder.

"Thanks," he managed, muffled.

"Sure thing, kiddo. But don't ever make me say that again," joked Cole, whapping the back of Lloyd's head lightly.

"_Believe_ me, I won't." Lloyd tried to be surreptitious about wiping his eyes as he drew back. Cole tactfully studied the corner of the ceiling.

"So?" he said at length. "Thoughts on that whole leader thing?"

Lloyd hesitated.

"You really think I can do this?"

"I think so."

"And if I do screw it up?"

"Then I'll smack you in the head and take my leadership back, thank-you-very-much," grinned Cole.

"Woah." Lloyd grimaced. "That's gonna be awkward."

"You bet. And I'll make sure to make it as awkward as possible, just for you." Cole chuckled at the unamused look he got. "Relax, kid. The guys trust you, and I wouldn't have nominated you if I didn't trust you too. Give yourself a little credit, huh?"

"Well . . . okay." Lloyd drew in his breath and nodded. "If Uncle Wu says yes, I'll give it a try."

"Fair 'nuff," said Cole, yawning.

"But on one condition."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"You're the one with the experience." Lloyd eyed him hopefully. "Think you could give me some pointers? . . . "

"Ohhh, that." Cole chuckled. "Sure thing."

"Phew. Tha—"

"On one condition!"

"Yeah? . . . " ventured Lloyd. Cole yawned again.

"Tomorrow morning. Not now."

"Oh." Lloyd laughed. "Sure. Forgot it was three AM."

"Ah, why'd you have to tell me the time? I was happy in my ignorance," groaned Cole good-naturedly, heaving himself to his feet. He gave Lloyd a drowsy glance. "You gonna be okay now?"

"'course. Thanks again. And, uhh . . . sorry again for waking you."

"Don' mention it," mumbled Cole, and shuffled back to bed. He was asleep within minutes.

Lloyd lay awake a while longer, hands tucked behind his head. He had to admit he still harbored some doubts about leading the whole team, but he was willing to give it a try. He couldn't go his whole life never trying to achieve anything just because it might fail, could he? And besides. Maybe it could count towards making up for all those other times. Maybe he could do it for his dad, make him proud.

Eventually he rolled onto his side, closing his eyes to sleep. Either way, whether Wu said yes or no tomorrow, Lloyd was going to make this a new start. From now on, no more screwing up.

* * *

**A/N: And then Season 5 happened. **

**Lloyd, you dork. -_(\**


	9. Masked

**Continuation of the previous Kailor oneshot, requested by LeNinjagoFangirl! This, one more, and then this collection is complete. **

**Guest 1: Thanks for the review! Sorry the reply's been so long coming; I guess you've seen Season 5 by now? If you haven't, though, I thought it was pretty good. The plot and pacing were great, the writing was decent, and there were some adorable Season-1-style character interactions. Morro was pretty cool; Ronin was AWESOME. The finale did choke a little bit, though, and some . . . _developments_ they introduced were kinda the opposite of cool. Overall, wouldn't rank it up there with Seasons 1 and 4, but it definitely was a close follow-up. :)**

**Guest 2: Aw, thanks very much for the kind words! Glad you're enjoying. ^_^**

* * *

Skylor might have known things would go downhill once Kai showed up. It's not that he didn't try to behave himself, or that he consciously tried to distract her; he just happened to be naturally distracting. First he asked a lot of questions about what she was doing and why, then when he found the answers were invariably boring he started examining all the stuff on her desk. Which wouldn't have been a problem in and of itself, but somehow he managed to always be fiddling with the exact item she needed at that moment. And then one of them would always make some kind of casual comment, not meant to go beyond two lines, and it would somehow spawn a whole conversation much more interesting than paperwork.

"I would never eat pufferfish," she found herself saying earnestly. "What's the point? You get to chew on something that tastes nice—if it even does—and for all you know you're getting dosed with deadly poison in the process."

"But that's part of the fun of it," retorted Kai. "You get to say you've eaten it and lived."

"_If_ you live."

"I'd live." Kai settled back, shrugging. "I've led a charmed life so far."

Skylor opened her mouth to argue further, then realized that they'd been having this particular conversation for more than fifteen minutes now, and there was still a half-read document under her elbow. Sighing, she shook her head and buckled down to work again. Kai tipped back in his chair and began idly mutilating a pad of sticky notes with his dagger.

Skylor tried to concentrate, but she felt Kai's glance constantly flickering to her, and she couldn't resist looking up every few seconds to see if he really was looking at her. Often enough he was, and whenever their eyes met he was always wearing a kind of knowing smirk. As if he knew a secret and was just waiting for her to nag him to spill it. 'Course, he probably didn't have any particular secrets; possibly he just liked what he saw. Skylor, normally not shy, felt her ears burning.

At last she put down her pen and gave him a resigned look.

"Hotshot." She tried to sound accusatory.

"Hmmm?" Kai looked up innocently, letting go of the sticky notes as if by accident. Instead of a mess of shredded paper, a chain of tiny cutout people unfurled from his hand. Skylor stared for a moment, then laughed and smacked her forehead.

"You're making it pretty hard to concentrate," she said reproachfully.

"I have that effect," said Kai, unrepentent.

"Well, concentrating would be kind of useful just now." She bit back an ironic grin. "Think you could tone down your dazzling brilliance for a while?"

"Oh, pardon _me_." Kai pulled his mask up over his mouth, his eyes laughing. "Is this any better?"

"Getting there. Mayyyyyybe more like—" Skylor reached over to pull the mask all the way up to his forehead. "Perfect."

Kai chuckled, pulling the fabric down far enough so he could just see over it.

"Cozy," he remarked. "Very warm."

Skylor shook her head, smiling as well.

"By the way, I've been wondering," she said. "Why do you guys wear those masks, anyway?"

"So people can't tell who we are," said Kai, raising one eyebrow as if that should be obvious. Skylor snorted.

"You guys are known all over Ninjago, and conveniently _color-coded._"

That actually seemed to throw him quite a bit.

"Not only that," she continued. "you're easy to tell apart by your hair or even your eyebrows. And you've been seen without masks in public often enough that—"

"Okay, okay!" Kai held up his hands defensively. "Don't knock the masks, geez! They're important to the ninja trade."

"I'm not knocking them," said Skylor, subsiding a bit. "I just wanted to know why you wear them. There must be some reason, right?"

"Oh, definitely," said Kai. "I, uh . . . just might have . . . forgotten it . . . "

He was somewhat distracted for the rest of the evening, clearly trying to pin down the reason. Skylor at least managed to get some work done.

The next day, Kai asked Sensei Wu about the masks.

"Why do _you_ think you wear them?" replied Sensei Wu, which was more or less the kind of answer Kai had expected.

He thought about it for quite a while. There was undeniably something special about slipping on those hoods or tugging up those bandanas; the simple act always gave him a shot of adrenaline, sharpening his senses and heightening his alertness. That seemed more like a side effect than an actual _reason_, though. He didn't think Sensei Wu had started them off wearing masks _just_ so they could be conditioned into associating them with serious action.

But then, what was the original reason? Skylor was right, they couldn't be disguises. They couldn't be just there because it was traditional for ninja to wear masks; Sensei Wu was more practical than that. They did provide a little protection from dust and cold, but not enough to justify their existence.

Somehow his thoughts kept coming back to that one other thing that always happened when he put on his mask: anonymity. It wasn't a disguise, sure—everyone still knew exactly who he was when he had his mask on, maybe even more than when he had it off. But that didn't change the _feeling_ of being hidden. His face was shielded, his expression hard to read. Acts that he would normally shy away from became simple when he watched from behind the security of the fabric. Wearing the mask, it was easier to be ruthless.

Something about that unsettled him. He hoped Skylor wouldn't follow up on the question, but she did.

"Because they help us know when it's game time," he told her. She seemed satisfied with that.

He kept wearing the mask like usual, of course, but he thought a little more carefully about how he acted when it was on.

* * *

**A/N: Meh; not much action or drama here, but it's a question that's been bugging me for a while now. Why _do_ they wear the masks? They make a big point of putting them on when it's ninja-time and taking them off when the action ends, but it's not like the masks physically help them or protect them. **

**So of course there had to be a quasi-sinister reason behind it. This is Aftermaths. :P**


	10. As Tears Go By

**Ooookay, time to put this locomotive in the roundhouse! Last chapter, just a bit of a nostalgic little wrap-up. Time and universe permitting, though, I really hope to do something like this for Season 5 too. A big th****ank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting! ****^_^**

**The title is Rolling Stones, by the way. Sappiest song ever, but pretty. **

**Darkrainbow: Thanks for the review! Well, like Kai said, I think it's a "game time" thing. The masks let both them and their enemies know that they're getting serious. Althoughhhhhh, sometimes I gotta wonder about the logic of it. Back in Episode 48, they kept their masks on while entering Sensei Yang's temple, but took them off when they entered the library. _Why_ the action ends specifically when you enter the library, we shall never know. XD**

**Angel Star Ninja: Thanks! The Lloydille one-shot is under construction, by the way. ^_^''**

**LeNinjagoFanGirl: Glad you enjoyed it! For the masks, same as Darkrainbow's reply; for the yelling "Ninja-go!", maybe it's like a battle cry? It might be especially useful during Spinjitzu by increasing the power of the move**—**like yelling "Hai-ya!" in karate. I've heard it really does increase the force of your blows. **

* * *

The sun was close to setting, and the ninja were training on the deck of the _Bounty_. Eager calls and the clashes of weapons rang out through the slanting sun-scented light. Wu sat atop the wheelhouse, sipping tea and watching them. His eyes were faintly troubled.

Now was a poor time to start second-guessing himself—seriously, the _worst_—but it was inevitable that he would start to doubt eventually. He had always been warned not to meddle too much, not to interfere with the hand of Fate. Even the wisest could not be right every time; trying to control events to suit his own idea of a "good future" would make him hardly different from his brother, trying to recreate Ninjago in his own image. It was not the place of one man to run the world.

So he worried a little, sometimes, about all the changes he had orchestrated. At times he thought perhaps he may have meddled a little too much, drawing together four young men, then a fifth, and pronouncing them the defenders of their homeland.

But what could he have done? Ninjago needed protection. It needed heroes, a force to rise against evil; the very prophecies foretold it. Wu told himself that he had merely been the instrument of Fate, setting the stage for the prophecies to fulfill themselves, ensuring that the world did not suffer and fall. That couldn't be very bad meddling, could it? On behalf of Ninjago he had no regrets.

And of course, the lives most deeply touched: the five ninjas', their families'. Their entire life paths had been completely diverted by the Sensei's call to arms. That was meddling, undeniably, controlling other's fates. Whatever became of them, the good, the bad, the brotherhood and the love and the enmity, that was all Wu's fault. It was mildly terrifying.

But this evening, he looked out over the multicolored flashes of motion on the deck and considered the alternative. Suppose he had never called the ninja together? Where would they all be now?

Zane. Zane he felt the fewest qualms over. The Nindroid had lived a detached, lonely life before he joined the team, wandering from town to town, never becoming close to anyone. Even after he first found his memory switch, he could not name a single friend from his wandering days; nobody bothered to reach out to a cool, soft-spoken, slightly weird stranger who was always just passing through. But as a part of the team, Zane had found acceptance. He had gained a family who accepted his quirks—a little teasing aside—and he had found out the truth about himself, found his father, found PIXAL. None of that would have happened if Sensei Wu hadn't called on him all those years ago. His sacrifice to defeat the Golden Master had been painful, but he'd be the first to tell you he never regretted it for an instant.

Kai, the most hotheaded of them all. Forever a devoted slave to his passions, both good and bad. How long would he have tolerated the blacksmith job? Drudging away at a grimy forge day after day, churning out plowshares and doornails? Not Kai, no. He would have lost patience soon, plunged off into some irrational search for adventure, and probably gotten himself pointlessly killed. His sister would be left devastated and forever unaware of her potential instead of blossoming into the capable, confident samurai she was today. Kai himself would never have had the steadying influence of his friends, would never have learned to temper his fire for the sake of others.

Cole. Wu had to admit, he could comfort himself more on behalf of others than of Cole himself. As a member of the team—for a long time as its leader—the earth ninja was always rough-and-tumble. He didn't hesitate to tease his teammates, call them by a vast catalog of nicknames, roughhouse, and generally keep things lively. It was always affectionate, though, and in a lot of ways it helped him be a better leader. Being close with his teammates allowed him to perfectly tune battle plans, and the others, with their wide-ranging mix of temperaments, were much more willing to follow someone familiar and jokey than a stern, authoritarian leader. But Wu couldn't shake the uneasy suspicion that Cole, if he hadn't become a ninja, could easily have become a bully. His boisterous energy would need little excuse to spill over into cruelty, leaving him friendless and maybe even feared. But charged with leadership, he was able to channel that energy into protecting and guiding his team—and with that he did a fine job.

Jay. Admittedly Sensei Wu felt guilt about him the most often. He was a little high-strung, and the stress and danger of the ninja lifestyle sometimes seemed too much for him. He could have lived a much more peaceful life as an inventor or helping his parents around the junkyard. But then, an inventor's life was a hard one—even the most successful lived hand-to-mouth, always struggling to come up with the next big thing as each successive invention lost its novelty. Jay's self-confidence was shaky enough even as a highly trained ninja with command over forces of nature; the constant failures inherent to tinkering would have broken his spirit. At least now he had a name, a purpose, and a group of friends he could depend on—to bolster him up when he was panicking and to put up with his quirky humor when he wasn't. Wu still fretted over the days or weeks that must be chipping off the end of Jay's life every time giant snakes or invincible stone armies rampaged through Ninjago, but he at least hoped that Jay was living this life to the fullest.

They all were, hopefully. And that wasn't very bad meddling, was it? They all did so well in their current lives. Even those many times when they tried to take up other jobs, they always ended up gravitating right back to their roles as ninja. Maybe their gathering really had been Fate all along, and Wu really was just its messenger.

The Sensei settled back with a sigh, pouring himself another cup of tea, and watched darkness slide gradually over the shifting forms below. Either way, for Ninjago's sake and for theirs, he was at peace.


End file.
